


Why are you in my bath?

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Sherlock!Wizardverse Drabbles - General [34]
Category: Sherlock (TV), some vague Harry Potter universe
Genre: M/M, Sex, Smut, in a bathtub, might be squicky for gentials idk?, tumblr inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock drew himself a bath.<br/>John thought it would be romantic to share it.<br/>Then they done the sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why are you in my bath?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post - [link](http://bluebellglowinginthedark.tumblr.com/post/40004845092/john-is-that-your-foot-on-my-er-sorry-ill)
> 
> **_WARNING!!!!!_**  
>  In this Crossover AU Sherlock's anatomy is weird because he's a creature. Basically he's got a vagina behind his dick where a man's balls should be. There is no delicate way to say it. And it is mentioned a wee bit in this drabble. So.... if this makes you uncomfortable, read no further.

         Sherlock stood with his arms folded across his chest. A towel around his waist and a scowl on his face. “John,” he said. “I’m only going to ask you this once. Why are you in my bath?”  
         “I thought it would be romantic?” he replied, his voice sounding unsure near the end, but his confidence was back rather quickly. “Come on, Sherlock. Just get in. It’s nice and warm, and there’s plenty of bubbles, just the way you like.”  
         “I know that. I’m the one who drew the bath,” Sherlock said, staring down his nose at him.  
         John shook his head with a gentle smile. “Look, just get in here. It’s not like I take up a lot of space, now is it?” The doctor had always been aware of his short stature, but sometimes it had its perks. After a little more wheedling, Sherlock finally dropped the towel and got in. Long limbs moving about, bumping into John, to get comfortable. “See,” John said after a bit, sliding his legs along Sherlock’s. “What did I tell you?”  
         “I fail to see how this can be construed as roma…” He stilled, his words cut off by an unexpected sensation. “John, is that your foot on my…”  
         “Er, sorry…” John replied, slowing the movements of his foot, but not quite stopping. “I’ll stop.”  
         “Don’t you dare,” Sherlock groaned, eyes sliding closed in bliss as he sank lower into the sudsy water. His head tilted back so that his neck rested against the lip of the tub. His arms came up out of the water to grasp at the sides in an effort to keep himself from sinking too far down. “Oh… Oh. Right. No, to the right, John. No no no… MY right, John. Yes. There. Exactly.”  
         “You’re so demanding.” John was grinning from ear to ear, watching Sherlock squirm at the other end of the tub. His feet brushing against his thighs as he tried to keep himself afloat under John’s attentions. Whatever answer given, because Sherlock ALWAYS had an answer, had been lost to a choked sob of pleasure and a low, primal moan.  
         Sherlock gripped the tub with both hands. His knuckles turning white as he kept himself not from falling under the water, but from jumping across the tub and pinning John in place. Not that he wasn’t going to be doing that anyway, but he at least tried. It was getting harder and harder a thing to do when John would take that teasing foot away for a few seconds, then give it back again.  
         At last, he couldn’t take it anymore and let go. At first he dipped down, just a little, then sprang up again. Long wet legs cumbersome in such a confined space, but he made do with surging himself forward and folding them beneath him. Trapping John between his thighs as he reached out to grip the sides of the tub on either side of his husband’s head. The force of his movements causing water to slosh out from the sides and onto the tiled floor.  
         Caught by surprise, John didn’t quite catch on to what had happened until Sherlock’s legs had him pinned and those cheekbones were just a few short inches from his own face. Looking up into Sherlock’s eyes he could see only the thinnest band of ash around the blown pupils.  
         “Hands. Waist. NOW.” The words were barked as an order before bow shaped lips were smashed against his own, seeking almost to try and draw his very breath out of his lungs in desperation. John knew, when Sherlock was wound up this far, to do exactly as he’d been told. The moment his hands hit Sherlock’s waist he was allowed breath again. But only so that Sherlock may reach below the water to take him into hand.  
         A strangled cry escaped his lips as his devilish husband gave a wicked smile. Knowing exactly what he was doing to the man beneath him. Reveling in the reactions he received from simply a few movements of his wrist and a slight squeezing of his fingers.  
         “Oh god!” John shouted as he felt himself near the edge.  
         Sherlock stopped his hand, causing an angry growl from John before he adjusted his own position, just enough. Just a little, to get the angle right so he may comfortably guide as best he could without the advantage of sight, John’s cock to the folds behind his own rigid member.  
         He hissed. head thrown back as he sucked air through his teeth; his eyes shut tightly as he felt the long familiar stretch along his inner walls. Controlling his slide as he sank down. Down until he settled so perfectly against his husband. His mate. When his head snapped forward, and his eyes opened again they were trained on John. Watching him closely. Picking him apart in silence while putting him back together again. Filling his mind, as well as his body, with nothing but his John.  
         Without a single word, John knew when to move. When it was safe to let go his self restraint and thrust upwards. The water sloshing around them; spilling over the sides of the tub again and again. But he didn’t care. He got what he’d wanted, though not quite in the manner he’d pictured. Didn’t matter now, as he let his hands roam up and down Sherlock’s sides before sliding one down his arm and pulling a hand from where it gripped the porcelain so tightly beside his head.  
         Long musician’s fingers wove together with the calloused digits of a surgeon’s and held them tightly as the arm was drawn out to their side, the back of John’s wrist resting against the tub. And with the added leverage, Sherlock again adjusted his angle, just slightly, just a little. And in doing so let out a loud and glorious moan.  
         Their hips worked faster, skin slapping together beneath the water. The suds were gone now having been sloshed out in wave after wave created from the force of their coupling. “Sherlock!” John shouted when he felt again the edge, thrusting up to meet grinding hips one more time. Spending into the quivering channel that gripped and squeezed and held him so tightly. Milking his cock as the frenetic pace of moments before began to slow. Turned from a hard, desperate joining of cock, cunt, and limbs to a languid and slow fuck as they rode out the aftershocks.  
         Then, at last, chests heaving with the effort to breath Sherlock slid off him and lazily stretched out, seemingly uncaring, yet actually quite careful of not smothering John beneath the water.  
         “That-” John started, but was interrupted by Sherlock.  
         “I just remembered,” he said. “I do hope no one was home. Otherwise I do fear we may have given mummy and father quite an ear full.”  
         John moved, just enough to get out from under Sherlock and sort-of put them side by side (as best one can in such a small space). “Would be their fault for listening,” he said with a satisfied smirk. “Now… are we actually going to get clean?”  
         “Only,” Sherlock started sleepily. “If we do this every time.”


End file.
